Edited by JohnD on March 20, 2017, 8:14 pm
When my lad popped a tyre on my road bike last summer I turned that thing upside down and showed him how it was done.
"Call me Des" I muttered as I began. I think I was wearing a checkered shirt at the time.
I got out the spoons and pried the tyre off.
Immersed in a bowl of water we identified where the air was leaking from, and dried that spot off, talking about the unfairness of capitalism and how to properly tickle a clitoris, while we waited to ensure it was completely dry.
Then, some baby powder was administered to the area and all excess blown away. At this point I think my wife stuck her head out the door and I ordered her to make us a sarnie, proper Des style.
Anyway, we now had a very clean and dry area, and the rubber solution was applied, not too liberally mind, and spread around with an index finger so as to form an extremely thin membrane of incredible tackiness. The patch was applied and we knew we had a perfect repair.
We talked a little bit about kopites and how they are not to be trusted, before putting the whole thing back together and this little father son bonding (no pun) time had come to an end.
As he rode off to his mates house I marveled about how God, in His wisdom, gave us bikes, and with a contented sigh I sat down in the sun and drank myself into a stupor.
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